


The Dark of Eden

by Aethelflaed



Series: Sawdust of Words [9]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Backstory, Canon Compliant, Crowley Created the Stars (Good Omens), Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), During Canon, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Light Angst, Lonely Aziraphale (Good Omens), M/M, Prequel, Scene: Garden of Eden (Good Omens), Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-21
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:41:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,980
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21878311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/pseuds/Aethelflaed
Summary: On their last night in Eden, Aziraphale and Crawley walk together through the Garden, each reflecting on what he lost.But perhaps there is something that they have gained...
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: Sawdust of Words [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1451122
Comments: 43
Kudos: 168





	The Dark of Eden

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place between chapters 4 and 5 of [Early Days.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20225332?view_full_work=true) It also references Aziraphale's backstory, which is found in [Obedience](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20798852) and [Someplace You Belong.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20899460) It is not necessary to read these stories first.
> 
> This story tells the same scene twice, once from Crowley's point of view, once from Aziraphale's.

Eden - The 2,593rd night since Aziraphale and Crawley met

**I.** **Crawley**

“It’s just right here,” Aziraphale said, leading the way through the trees. “Sorry about the undergrowth.”

The path, if you could call it that, was hardly wide enough for a single being to walk between grasping branches and thorny bushes, gently curving through the forest of Eden.

It was dark – the sounds of dusk had long given way to the softer noises of night – but Crawley could easily make out the angel before him, the roots growing on the path, even an owl sitting in a nearby juniper. He couldn’t stop his eyes from darting around, trying to take in everything. He’d only been in the Garden as a serpent, and snake eyes were no match for human.

It was a trade-off, really. As a snake he could feel vibrations through the ground and taste the air; in this body, he could see and hear clearly. Neither was  _ better. _

No, that was wrong. A snake couldn’t detect all the subtle shades of color in the world. A snake couldn’t hear music, or understand laughter as anything other than a faint, distant buzz. A snake couldn’t feel the cool night air brushing his skin without it penetrating down to the bones, sapping his energy. A snake wouldn’t notice how Aziraphale glanced over his shoulder – a flash of eyes in the dark – to make sure Crawley was still there, then stood a little straighter, not from fear or defensiveness but excitement for what he was about to reveal –

No, one form was definitely  _ better. _

“This,” the angel said, “is one of my favorite places in the Garden.” And with another step the forest fell away behind them.

Crawley didn’t notice the details of the clearing; later he would recall the soft ground under his feet, the chirp and croak of frogs in the lake piercing a distant background roar, the cool breeze tugging his hair. But for now, all he saw was the stars.

A million tiny fires caught him unprepared, transfixed by their beauty, each separate glowing gem a voice from a past he could no longer reach. The Milky Way rose like the smoke of a far-off hearth, billowing across the night, calling him home.

He’d seen them from Earth before, of course, a thousand nights standing vigil outside the human camp. He’d watched the stars come out this very night, up on the Wall. He thought, after all these years, he’d grown used to them, immune to the pain they brought.

But somehow, just now, he felt stripped bare, exposed before the stars, as he had that first night, alone in the desert after his fight with the angel, each new light another knife in his broken soul.

He had known them, once. He could almost recall – trailing fingers through a nebula, a little twist to make a core, a hot snap of fingers  _ it only takes a spark _ – but the memory slid away, out of his grasp.

Crawley could only remember enough to know what he had lost – the poetry of their names, the curve and arc of their dance through the heavens. Everything else had been taken, so that all he saw was a wordless, terrifying chaos.

Aziraphale said something.

“Hn? What?” He couldn’t take his eyes away, desperately searching for any point of reference, anything to help him make sense of the sprawling eternity before him, and the other one, the nameless confusion of his memories.

“I said it can be a bit overwhelming, I suppose. Part of the magic of Eden – the animals never attack, fruits and flowers in the same season, and the stars, well…” the angel waved his hand at the sky.

Crawely didn’t answer. What could he say to that?

“There’s a beautiful waterfall this way.” A sudden grip on Crawley’s right wrist, gently tugging him forward. “It’s better in daylight, but you really must –”

Crawley dropped his eyes in shock – Aziraphale’s hand on his arm, the warm pressure almost enough to take him out of his trance. The angel quickly let go, stepping away, cold night air rushing in to erase all trace of the contact, leaving Crawley alone again.

“I-I’m so sorry,” said the flustered angel, wringing his hands. “That was very rude of me. I don’t know why I – you just seemed distracted.”

Crawley’s eyes drifted back to the stars. “The humans haven’t named them yet,” he said, searching again. “They’ve named everything else. Plants. Animals. Types of rock.” He raised his hand, tracing his fingers across the clouded form of the galaxy. “It’s stupid, but I was hoping to be there when they named the stars.”

As if knowing their names could return some part of what he’d lost.

“Cygnus.”

“What?”

“Where your finger is. That group is Cygnus.” The angel’s arm passed over his shoulder, and Crawley suddenly realized Aziraphale was behind him, standing so close, he could feel the heat of him, had only to lean back to be touching him. “You see? These ones here, and then a line like that.” His finger traced a shape, connecting a group of bright stars amidst the clouds. “I think it’s meant to be a bird of some kind.”

“How…?” And just like that, Crawley could see it, a wide-winged, long-necked bird flying across the night sky.

“I, ah, I know some of the constellations the humans will make. Just the names and shapes, not the stories that go with them. I can show you, if you like.”

Crawley nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

“Let me think. There’s Aquila. That’s another bird.” The finger traced out five stars, and Crawley raised his own hand to copy.

“And this one –” Aziraphale took his wrist, tracing a long chain of stars towards the horizon with Crawley’s finger. “This is Serpens. It’s in two parts because it wraps around another one, Ophiuchus, which – it’s complex, see the body, the arms?”

“I see it,” Crawley whispered, heart racing. “And over here? Is this another one?”

Aziraphale leaned closer, chin resting on Crawley’s shoulder, breath warm on his cheek. The fingers on his wrist – soft, with a hint of rough calluses – guided him through another complex shape. “That one is Hercules. With a club, see? And facing him –”

Aziraphale spun them to face another direction, wrapping his left arm across Crawley’s chest to keep them steady, but the demon didn’t care. He needed  _ more. _

“Here, this one,” Aziraphale traced another long chain with their fingers. “This is Draco. And just past it, on the tree line, that’s the Big, um, the Great Bear, I think. And there’s another one,” he pulled them back a step, pressing Crawley to the soft curve of his belly – “there, the Small Bear, and the last star, there, I remember that. It stays fixed while the rest turn around it. It points you north. You’ll want to remember that if you’re going off alone.”

Then angel’s grip loosened, and Crawley stumbled away, legs shaking, eyes filled with tears that wouldn’t fall.

But in his mind he could see it now. Patterns in the chaos. His memories were still a haze of confusion – images and words with no context, no logic – but when he raised his eyes to the sky he felt…at peace.

_ Aziraphale had given him back the stars. _

Already it was a debt he could never repay. He should be happy with what he’d already received. But the questions, the endless questions, bubbled to the surface again.

“Are there more?” he asked – demanded – blinking his eyes clear, scanning the sky again. “There, that big, bright sort of square, is that anything?”

“I – yes. If you’re sure?”

_ Sure? _ Crawley had never been more sure of anything, not as long as he could remember. He held out his hand, pleading, ready to pay whatever price the angel wanted. He had to  _ know. _

Aziraphale took that hand, pressing their palms together, and led Crawley into the field, pointing again at the sky. “That square is the wing of Pegasus. The whole shape is…”

Together they walked through the dark of Eden, under the burning stars.

**II. Aziraphale**

“It’s just right here,” Aziraphale said, following the little forest trail. He heard the whispered rattle of another branch snagging Crawley’s robes. “Sorry about the undergrowth.”

There were no paths in Eden, exactly, except for the ones worn down by the unchanging round Aziraphale had walked for seven years. He tried to avoid taking that route again, but any time his thoughts strayed, his feet found their way back to the same old track.

Crawley had said very little. Glancing over his shoulder, Aziraphale saw the demon peering about in every direction, as if trying to take it all in. He wouldn’t be able to see much in the dark – it was a pity they couldn’t walk through Eden during the day, with the birds singing and flowers blooming. But what they were about to see should make up for it.

He hoped it would make Crawley smile, or laugh. He was so hard to read sometimes; constantly trying to  _ guess _ his emotional state was exhausting. And in any case, Aziraphale liked his laugh.

He’d never realized a demon’s laugh could be so open. So genuine.

“This,” Aziraphale announced, stepping under the last branches and into the clearing, “is one of my favorite places in the Garden.”

The angel caught himself beaming proudly, as if he had created the clearing himself. It  _ was _ good, though. The ground underfoot was covered in a soft moss that always made him feel rejuvenated after the endless walking of his duty. The lake, during the day, was a deep calming blue, full of fish and swans and other delightful creatures. You couldn’t see the waterfall from here, but it was spectacular, and he could already hear its deep rumble below the other nighttime noises.

Crawley, however, seemed unaware of all this. He walked across the moss, head tilted back, captivated by the stars.

With a steadying breath, Aziraphale glanced up. They called to him, the music of the spheres that only angels could hear. The slow, eternal march of hundreds of clusters of stars, abstract records of tales humanity hadn’t yet dreamed up. An impossibility, no, ineffability. The Great Plan accounted for all things that would be, wove them into a tapestry of endless beauty.

Sometimes, he looked at the stars and felt all he had faith in confirmed, bringing an indescribable joy.

But other times – especially here, in the Garden, where the sky looked too much like Heaven’s before the War, before everything changed, before everyone was lost – other times it brought him only grief.

Crawley still stared, unblinking, at the sky.

He wished he’d never brought the demon here.

Aziraphale forced a laugh. “Oh, you know, this is a bit overwhelming. Never mind.”

“Hn? What?” The demon shook his head slightly, sending a ripple through his red hair, but kept his face turned upward.

“I said it can be a bit overwhelming, I suppose.” Aziraphale rubbed his arms against the chill. Had it been this cold all along, or was it just the sight of the Milky Way, splitting the night like a scar? “Part of the magic of Eden,” be burbled on, “the animals never attack, fruits and flowers in the same season, and the stars, well…” He waved his hand helplessly.

Still no response. A spark of anger kindled inside him. He wasn’t sure what he’d expected – surely not companionship or joy – but  _ something. _ Instead all the loneliness he fought so hard to keep back was crashing in, the loss, the grief, and this  _ demon _ just intruded on that without a care –

“There’s a beautiful waterfall this way,” he said coldly, hoping that moving from this spot might break the spell on his emotions. When the other being still didn’t move, Aziraphale grabbed his wrist, pulling. “It’s better in daylight, but you really must –”

With a suddenness he’d never expected, golden eyes dropped to their hands, glaring, furious at the presumption. Aziraphale let go, stumbling in his haste to back up, suddenly very aware of the fact that he was alone and unarmed with one of the Fallen.

“I-I’m so sorry,” he rushed urgently, wringing his hands. “That was very rude of me. I don’t know why I – you just seemed – distracted.”

Those slit-pupil eyes wandered sightlessly to Aziraphale’s face, and the angel saw – not anger. Loss. A deep, boundless pain that called to his own.

Crawley turned his face back to the sky.

Aziraphale stepped closer.

“The humans haven’t named them yet,” he said softly, more to himself than to the angel. “They’ve named everything else. Plants. Animals. Types of rock. It’s stupid, but I was hoping to be there when they named the stars.” He raised his hand, as if to grasp the stars. Not possessively. Longingly.

It was the same way Rahatiel, Angel of Constellations, used to stand, watching the stars bloom in the sky as Creation began to take shape. Aziraphale and their other friends, gathered so close their wings were in a tangle, arms around each other’s shoulders and waists, pressing close together for warmth, for companionship, trying to see the sky through each other’s eyes.

Without thinking, Aziraphale had stepped behind Crawley, taking care not to stand too close, looking over his shoulder to see where his finger pointed.

Rahatiel’s voice whispered in his mind, the voice of one who died before Time began.

“Cygnus.”

“What?”

“Where your finger is. That group is Cygnus.” Carefully, making sure they didn’t brush against each other in any way, he stretched his arm over Crawley’s shoulder, so they could both see where he pointed. “You see? These ones here, and then a line like that.” He carefully traced the shape of the wings and the long neck of the swan. Suddenly embarrassed, he murmured, “I think it’s meant to be a bird of some kind.”

“How…?” Crawley’s voice – full of wonder, full of pain – made his heart ache.

“I, ah…” No. No, a demon would never understand the bond Aziraphale had shared with his friends. That he would keep to himself. “I know some of the constellations the humans will make. Just the names and shapes, not the stories that go with them.”

Crawley drew in a shuddering breath, and something in Aziraphale’s heart broke free.

“I can show you, if you like.”

Crawley nodded.

“Let me think.” The words and shapes came rushing back, more clearly than he could have believed. “There’s Aquila. That’s another bird.” He traced the shape, and Crawley’s finger followed so closely their hands brushed.

“And this one –” Aziraphale wrapped his hand around the demon’s wrist, shocked at how warm it felt. “This is Serpens.” He used Crawley’s finger to trace the line of bright stars down the sky. “It’s in two parts because it wraps around another one, Ophiuchus, which –” he realized he didn’t know how to explain this one. “It’s complex. See the body, the arms?” He did his best to approximate the shape.

“I see it,” Crawley whispered. “And over here? Is there another one?” He jerked his arm almost straight up, pulling Aziraphale so close their cheeks brushed.

“That one is Hercules. With a club, see?” Aziraphale glanced around for the next one, pulling Crawley with him as he turned. “And facing him – here, this one. This is Draco.” Another shift, the feel of Crawley’s tunic rough under his fingers, the heartbeat a strange THUD-THUD without rhythm but with an unbreakable strength. “And just past it, on the tree line, that’s the Big, um, the Great Bear, I think. And there’s another one,” back another step, “there, the Small Bear, and the last star, there, I remember that. It stays fixed while the rest turn around it. It points you north. You’ll want to remember that if you’re going off alone.”

Alone.

Suddenly Aziraphale realized what he was doing, holding Crawley so closely – so intimately – the planes of their bodies pressed together, the fog of their breath mingling in the night air. The smell of brimstone surrounded him, the smell of the earth after a thunder strike, how had he failed to notice that?

Aziraphale quickly let go, stepping back; Crawley stumbled away as if released from a headlock.

“I’m so sorry,” Aziraphale all but sobbed. For just a moment, he’d forgotten what they were – an angel and a demon, enemies, if amicable ones. For just a moment, he had imagined he’d found the companionship he’d lost, that he hadn’t been alone…

He took a deep breath, composing himself, watching his hands smooth the front of his robes. “I’m sorry,” he repeated as evenly as possible. “That was abhorrent behavior on my part. I’ll understand completely if you want to leave now. In fact, we should return to the Wall –”

“Are there more?” The wavering, breathless question cut through the night. Crawley stood up straight, pointing again. “There, that big, bright sort of square, is that anything?”

“I – yes.” Aziraphale took a step towards him. “If you’re sure.”

Crawley looked down again to meet Aziraphale’s eyes, and the angel froze in shock. There was something there, behind the smile that was almost a desperate grimace, behind the traces of unshed tears, something deeper than joy and more profound than heartache and burning with a need beyond all words.

Crawley held out his hand.

Aziraphale didn’t fully understand what he had seen, or what he was feeling. But he knew what was being asked of him, and he was more than happy to give it.

He slid his hand into Crawley’s, leading him into the middle of the field, letting the strange warmth fill him. “That square is the wing of Pegasus. The whole shape is…”

Together they walked through the dark of Eden, under the burning stars.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> (Explanation for this unusually short fic: after [What it Means to be a Demon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21506002/chapters/51258943) I needed something quick, short and simple, and I also wanted a chance to work on my POV and voice. This was a scene I'd been planning to include in the series anyway, so here we are!)
> 
> Thank you to my beta, kindathewholepoint, who was probably a bit relieved to receive this story after the prior angst fest.
> 
> Comments are always appreciated! I've got one more fic to post before my next hiatus, which will be the Friday after Christmas. Happy Holidays if you celebrate them!
> 
> Follow me on [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/aethelflaedladyofmercia) for Good Omens Content, including metas and one-offs.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


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